


His Heart to Report

by Clio (clio_jlh), clio_jlh, greenteaduck, SailAweigh



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Challenge Response, Community: st_respect, F/M, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2010-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/Clio, https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/pseuds/clio_jlh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenteaduck/pseuds/greenteaduck, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailAweigh/pseuds/SailAweigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was." ~~ Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 4, Scene 1</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Heart to Report

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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[by: greenteaduck](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/tag/by%3A%20greenteaduck), [by: jlh](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/tag/by%3A%20jlh), [by: sail_aweigh](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/tag/by%3A%20sail_aweigh), [fan: art](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/tag/fan%3A%20art), [fan: fic](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/tag/fan%3A%20fic), [rating: nc-17](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/tag/rating%3A%20nc-17), [ship wars: prompt 6](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/tag/ship%20wars%3A%20prompt%206), [ship wars: prompt 6: tribble 3: the rabb](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/tag/ship%20wars%3A%20prompt%206%3A%20tribble%203%3A%20the%20rabb)  
  
  
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**Title:** His Heart to Report  
 **Ship:** Jones, reboot characters, based around a TOS episode  
 **Prompt 6:** Jones - _"Don't say we aren't right for each other, the way I see it is.. we aren't right for anyone else" -from the Cutting Edge_  
 **Author(s):** [](http://sail-aweigh.livejournal.com/profile)[**sail_aweigh**](http://sail-aweigh.livejournal.com/), [](http://jlh.livejournal.com/profile)[**jlh**](http://jlh.livejournal.com/), [](http://greenteaduck.livejournal.com/profile)[**greenteaduck**](http://greenteaduck.livejournal.com/)  
 **Artist:** [](http://greenteaduck.livejournal.com/profile)[**greenteaduck**](http://greenteaduck.livejournal.com/)  
 **Jones Team Name:** The Rabbit Hole  
 **Beta:** [](http://lindmere.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lindmere.livejournal.com/)**lindmere**  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Word Count:** 7976 according to Google Docs (checked)  
 **Summary:** _"The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was." ~~ Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 4, Scene 1_  
 **Warnings:** slash, het, threesome  
 **Disclaimer:** None of us own anything other than the idea for this story. Please don't sue.

  


  
"Dammit, Jim, you may as well be looking for a pie in the sky or chasing down a rabbit hole with the way you run after anything in skirts, pants or even vaguely warm-blooded. You're never going to find what you're looking for if you don't slow down and really look at the people around you. Give yourself a chance to get to know someone." _Like me_. But he doesn't say it, no matter how badly he wants to.

Kirk looks him steadily in the eye. "I know _you_ , Bones and I think you get along just fine without me."

That stops McCoy in his tracks. It's devastating, but it's what he's brought on himself by constantly holding out for what he considers more--Jim's complete, undivided attention. "Just once, I'd like to try."

With that final pronouncement, McCoy turns away and forces his way through the brush. He is sick of this Shore Leave Planet. Everyone has gorged themselves on food, drink and pleasures galore. Scotty has bogarted a buffet table full of sandwiches, Sulu has faced off against every Samurai warrior he ever dreamed of facing with a katana (and lived to tell about it.) Chekov has played Bobby Fisher and Garry Kasparov at chess, simultaneously. The crew is in seventh heaven.

McCoy's had his own taste of paradise: flirted with a couple of show girls in skimpy costumes, played at being a knight in shining armor (sans armor and damn, did that hurt), drank as many mint juleps as he wished for and basked in the sun. Now, he just wants to go back to the _Enterprise_ and normality: Jim in his captain's chair and him by his side, appreciated, but not really noticed. He's tired of being part of the background noise, but it's better than being ignored as he's been for the past day while Jim was busy playing Lothario to a growing horde of admirers.

Most of all, he's tired of never knowing when he'll find Jim in his bed and wondering whose bed Jim will be in the next night.

He taps on his communicator to request transport back to the ship. Before he finishes dissolving into his component atoms he spots the White Rabbit looking at him from the brush, his watch in his hand. A puzzled McCoy doesn't have time to wonder why the creature flashes a handful of fingers at him. Stop? Five? Good-bye? Everything goes black and he fizzles out of existence on the planet.

He arrives back on the ship and goes straight to his quarters, to bed, alone.

  


McCoy has been off-center all day. Nurse Chapel has been a complete professional as always, but he's been thrown off-stride by some overly familiar touches and smiles directed at him in quiet moments. He's considering scanning for foreign pollen in the ventilation system if it continues into tomorrow. A comm hail stops him in the passageway.

"Doctor McCoy, please report to the Nursery. Doctor McCoy to the Nursery."

The message is puzzling, but finally a concrete clue that something is amiss with the _Enterprise_. His eyebrows attempt to crawl into the stratosphere as he acknowledges the hail.

"On my way. McCoy out." _When the devil did they install a nursery?_ He hits the comm, again.

"Computer, location of the Nursery, please?" The answer sends him back in the direction of Sickbay, but two spaces over on the opposite bulkhead.

Leonard enters the compartment, thinking that he's being called to look after an ailing child. Instead, he's swarmed by two little girls with matching jumpsuits and pigtails. The major difference between them appears to be the color of the bows in their hair; otherwise, they're peas in a pod.

"Daddy, Daddy!" The one with purple bows comes barreling straight into his legs, grabbing him around the thigh and jumping onto his left boot with both her tiny feet. The one with white bows walks placidly up to him, tugs on his right hand and demands "Up!" McCoy lifts her up and looks at her consideringly. She regards him back with the same sense of evaluation before deeming him suitable, at which point she places both arms around his neck and lays her head against his shoulder in contentment.

"Did you forget it was your turn to take the twins to activity hour while your wife is in class, Doctor McCoy?" A nursery attendant comes over holding a bag bulging with clothes and toys. He hands it to McCoy, who struggles to free a hand before he slings it over his shoulder. He's bewildered by everything that's happening, but until he can find a spare moment to do some exploration with the ship's personnel roster, Leonard can only go with the flow and hope he doesn't do anything too noticeably gauche and draw undue comment. _Activity hour, eh?_ He has a young daughter back home, how much more trouble could two be than one?

Sixty minutes later, at just 1800 hours, he is ready to surrender completely to Morpheus and the kids still seem to be going strong. He's followed them over climbing bars, through tunnels, swinging from a trapeze, and dancing on a mirrored floor to someone called "The King." He's found out purple bows is Dora and white bows is Lora. Both are determinedly right-handed and they both have crushes on a little boy named David, whose notice they have done their combined best to obtain. McCoy has had to run interference on their determined pursuit of the blond toddler. Judging by the level of attention the child is attracting, he's going with the old adage, _like father, like daughters_. Just because he's landed somewhere with a wife and kids doesn't mean his feelings for Jim have magically disappeared.

It hasn't taken seeing the child's father leading him through the obstacle course to determine parentage; the blue eyes and triangular face are a dead giveaway. Nonetheless, it causes a pang in his chest to see Jim playing with his son. David and his father romp together gleefully. The captain of the ship is being brought to his knees by a three-year-old and enjoying every minute, while guiding the child safely and surely through the activities. They've both been thoroughly occupied with their children and there's barely been time to say a brief "hello" to his friend, so he's watched wistfully, seeing a new side of this man who has meant so much to him and he's afraid to let mean more. He's desperate to go up to him and demand explanations for the whole situation: wives, kids, a different Enterprise; has he landed in Oz? He's never been in Kansas and he's pretty damned sure this isn't it either for all the happy families they seem to be playing.

"Dora!" McCoy has to corral the little girl one more time as she makes a run to throw herself at David. Picking her up and whirling her around like a shuttle, he throws a hurried apology over his shoulder to Jim.

"Sorry, Jim. I'm afraid they're still more barbarian than civilized."

Kirk smiles at him over David's head. "They'll get there. After all, we did." McCoy almost interjects that he has doubts about Jim, but just watching him with David has disabused him of that notion.

"Have a nice evening, Bones. I'll see you later."

"'Night, Jim." Leonard sets Dora down and with a light swat on the butt, tells her to go stand with her sister while he packs their bag.

With a last glance back at Jim and David, he lets the girls guide him out of the playroom and along the passageway to their quarters. He hopes like hell there will be a bottle of bourbon in it, somewhere. He needs it to steady his nerves. Everyone here seems to have accepted him as the real deal, but he knows he doesn't belong. Each change is surprising, but deep inside it's something he's wondered about having: kids that live with him, a wife that loves him (he hopes), a family, the things he's missed since the divorce from Jocelyn and leaving Jo behind.

Surprisingly, his quarters are still in the same location. Not so surprising after the day's events is the woman waiting for him when he keys the door open to let in the children.

"Len, you look tired. Did they wear you down, chasing after David?" A wry smile crossing her face, Christine Chapel walks toward him with a heavy-bottomed glass of bourbon. She hands it to him with a lingering touch that signals a definite carnal intent. He nearly bolts the bourbon, but decides to play along until he can determine the root cause of this puzzling behavior and the discontinuities in the ship.

In the meantime, he's going to enjoy what has been given to him in the spirit in which it's meant. Leonard sets the bourbon on the counter while he gathers Christine into his arms.

"How soon can we get the kids fed and into bed? I have a hunger that food just won't satisfy, darlin'."

Christine winds her arms around his neck and leans her head back to look at him. "If you can hold your horses for half an hour, cowboy, I've got meatloaf, green beans and tater tots ready. You take the one on the right, I'll take the one on the left and when they're done, we'll toss 'em in the sonic and pop them in bed."

He makes a mock growl and nuzzles at her neck for a quick nip of the soft skin under her jaw. Christine leans in for a kiss, then they separate, each to scoop up a toddler in order to get them to the table and fed. Quickly, Leonard hopes.

~~~

  
McCoy lies in the bed, desperately wanting to sleep, but his thoughts are going a light-year a minute. Christine has succumbed to exhaustion and has her head pillowed on both arms with her face turned in his direction. He gazes at her, taking in the fine lines at the corner of her eyes, the laugh lines scoring her cheeks. Her face gives testament to a life that appears to provide her with enjoyment. He knows he enjoyed very much what they just were up to for a sweaty hour before collapsing back against the bedclothes. McCoy runs his hand over the slight bulge in her belly responsible for the surge in hormones that prompted such pleasant activities upon retiring for the evening.

This _Enterprise_ appears to be giving him everything he ever said he wanted. Leonard misses Joanna with an abiding ache. These children are sweet; they love him and show it effortlessly. He feels he could love them quite easily, along with their mother, too. Christine is competent, organized, affectionate and damn sexy in every way. He gathers her closer, reveling in the curves and the scent of woman. McCoy could have this family and be content for the rest of his life. But there's another ache; one for a golden, shining man with his equally shining child. How long would contentment last, with that unfulfilled yearning in his heart?

  


McCoy is pawing desperately through the drawers of his desk, pushing aside PADDs, empty hypos and other oddments that skitter out of the way in his search.

"Dammit all to hell, Nyota! Where'd the ring box go? I put it right here yesterday, I swear." He keeps digging for it frantically. At least it's not missing because two curious toddlers have thought to rifle through the drawer when left momentarily unattended. The twins had found his old hip flask, fortunately quite empty; Christine had reamed him out but good for it, regardless.

This should be awkward, going to sleep with one woman for a number of nights, then finding another woman in that bed when he got to his quarters two nights ago. He'd almost run back out into the hallway and to Jim's quarters to demand an explanation. But all his subtle queries about the Shore Leave planet to various crew members has netted him nothing in the way of explanations. No one on board seemed to remember being there. He isn't sure where he is anymore, just that it isn't home, is it? From one day to the next, no one remembers anything of his previous incarnation. He'd gone from living with Christine and the twins in a lively family to cohabiting with Uhura in the sophisticated boudoir of a woman of many cultures. The time with Christine and the girls had been bittersweet; he'd enjoyed living as a family unit, but it still hadn't come close to feeling like it was _his_ family and he was left watching Jim from afar, as always.

He hears a soft sigh from behind him. Then, a slim hand dips into this left front pants pocket from behind. It withdraws a small blue box, which is promptly returned to his pocket. McCoy turns around, placing his hands on Nyota's hips and leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. She is perfectly put together, her hair swept up in a sleek chignon that bares her neck and back to the deep plunging neckline of her dress.

"How can you be so calm?" McCoy asks, his eyes searching hers carefully for panic, regret, anger, any sign she wasn't okay with that day's coming event.

Uhura's face is serene, smooth; the corners of her mouth curl slightly in a practised smile. "This is what everyone has been waiting for, Len, what's meant to be. How can either of us argue with that? With destiny?" She raises her hands to smooth down the lapels of his tux. Lapels that are already quite smooth, the fabric made of cloth with memory retention and certified wrinkle free. McCoy captures her hands in his.

"Be honest with me, Nyota. Would you change anything that's happened?" He brings her hands up to his lips and presses little kisses into them. The fingers, which had been pressed together tightly, relax and start to curl more naturally around his. Nyota's hands are so very sensitive, meant for playing a musical instrument or tuning in elusive frequencies on a comm panel; it is no wonder she and Spock had seemed so well matched in the beginning. Their unspoken communication was near legendary; not legendary enough to quell the destiny of Jim Kirk and Spock, though. He wonders what drew her to him in this reality--his skill at surgery, perhaps?

Those talented hands slip free and clasp themselves behind his neck. Leonard likes the feeling, that he's strong enough to support her if she needs it. Nyota is a strong, capable woman, but she's not above asking for help or for what she wants when she wants it. Not afraid to turn it down either, but at least she doesn't turn it into a verbal skirmish or slap his hands away every time he tries to help. He doesn't have to guess which way she'll jump on any given day; their lines of communication are straight and honest.

"I wouldn't change a thing. Being with you has been so easy, Len. You give me so much, so many times before I even know I need it." Her hands stroke at the hair at the nape of his neck. It raises shivers up his spine and he finds himself drawing her in a little closer, his hands sliding down from her hips to her behind, cupping and caressing the firm mounds of her backside. They both move into the other starting a slow grind. He hadn't intended for anything to happen this close to the ceremony, but he suddenly finds himself in desparate need of being inside this warm, pliant, giving woman.

"And just what do you need, darlin'?" He ruches up the fabric of her dress, sliding it over her hips so he can get to the slinky fabric of her panties. His fingers slide down into the valley between her legs. "Some of this?" He strokes her through the thin fabric, the cloth moistening with her increasing desire. Her answer comes in the frantic way she starts unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket and then his shirt. From there it seems to be a time contest to see who can finish undressing the other first. They have barely thirty minutes until the ceremony and he's got the rings. He decides to use that time well and give Nyota what she needs.

~~~

  
It's a mad scramble to find her earrings, his cummerbund is hopelessly crushed, and he's missing one sock. They get themselves put back together, although Nyota hasn't time to put her hair back in the updo since he'd tossed all the pins keeping it in place helter-skelter around the room; instead, she knots it in a high ponytail with just a flip of her wrist. A quick pat of his pocket shows him the rings are secure in their box. Leonard holds her earrings for her while she struggles to put them back in place. She stifles a small sob when one clasp won't cooperate, her movements getting more frantic in her haste.

"What's wrong, darlin'? Can I help?" His attempts to cajole her into speaking finally break through her frustrated struggles with the earring.

"It's broken, Len. I've had these for three years, ever since our first trip to--" she breaks off abruptly, giving him a stricken look that is immediately shuttered. He can see her struggling to rebuild that calm facade she normally projects so effortlessly. "It doesn't matter. These are old, time to get some new ones that don't pinch my ears."

McCoy looks at her with compassion, and not a small bit of frustration, but takes the earrings from her hand and puts them in his pocket. He'll give them to Scotty later to see if he has a tool of some kind he can use to fix the clasp. Surely he has something as old-fashioned as a needle-nose pliers.

The whistle of the comm panel startles them both out of the uncomfortable reverie they had fallen into. "Bones! We can't get started without my best man. Get your ass up here and bring that hellcat you tamed with you. Tell N-yot-a that we won't notice if she's not wearing any panties when you get here." A snicker comes across the speaker, accompanied by Spock's remonstrances to his fiance to be on his best behavior before the chime signals the end of the transmission.

Nyota gets a furious look on her face, but Leonard is doing his best not to smirk and turns away to recover his composure before she sees. He also uses one hand to press the ache back into his chest that Jim's words leave in him. Jim still knew him better than anyone else; how was he going to give that up, ever? Especially to Spock?

Leonard turns back to Nyota and offers her a hand with a grin. "Let's go do this. The quicker we get those two off on their honeymoon, the more time we have to short sheet their bed before they get back." He tugs her through the door and once out in the corridor, looks at her with a wink and says, "Run."

  


McCoy groans once he leaves Sickbay. It only took twenty minutes for M'Benga to get fed up with McCoy's grumblings about the strain in his back. While a day full of paper work (and a week full of sex) is far more pleasant than one spent treating fatally wounded crew members, his sore body begs to differ. His neck seems to be protesting every movement as he tries to rub out the ache with his hands while making his way down the hall.

"Doctor?"

With an awkward turn of his head McCoy is greeted by a pair of big, green eyes. "Evenin', Chekov," he grumbles, his thumb working a point in his neck. "I'm off duty at the moment but M'Benga is still in if you're not feeling well."

Chekov shakes his head making his curls flop about. "I am not feeling ill, Doctor. But are _you_ okay?"

"What do you think?" McCoy furrows his brow at the boy.

Chekov pouts, "I was just asking a question..." He quickly ducks his head in order to hide his hurt look.

McCoy puts his arm down, wincing at the pain, to sigh tiredly, "Sorry, my back is just killing me..."

Chekov beams, much to McCoy's surprise. "I can show you old Russian massage technique, yes?"

The very thought of Chekov trying out some 'old Russian massage technique' on him makes his back hurt even more. "I think I'll just lie down..." he says but the look of absolute disappointment on Chekov's face makes McCoy squeeze his eyes shut tight. "I _will_ regret this, but alright, fine."

Chekov smiles widely and guides him by the hand to his quarters, practically skipping through the halls. "Lie over there," Chekov instructs once the door closes behind them.

McCoy lowers himself on to the bed, his back creaking, and practically flops onto his belly.

"Take your shirt off, please," Chekov orders next and ignores the glare McCoy throws him. McCoy does as he's told and settles back down.

Chekov takes a seat on McCoy's ass and McCoy cannot seem to stop his cock from stirring. He shoves his face into the pillow to hide his red cheeks once he feels long fingers begin to map out his back. "Do you really have to sit on me, kid?" McCoy mumbles into the pillow.

"Is Russian technique!" Chekov speaks as if insulted. When the heel of Chekov's hand begins to dig at a knot McCoy is pretty sure all of this 'Russian technique' talk is complete bullshit. Later when he shifts and feels that Chekov is hard against his ass, he _knows_ Chekov is completely winging all of this.

"Kid...," McCoy lets out a low warning growl and tries to turn his head in order to catch Chekov's attention, his neck still smarting. Chekov freezes when McCoy's eyes lock on his and the boy's hands tremble a little.

Both of them lie there, equally hard.

When Chekov gives a tiny whine, McCoy takes that as his cue to move Chekov off his ass and sit up in order to face him. Chekov's hands cover his own erection and his eyes are glued to the tent in McCoy's pants. _Damn rabbit hole_ , McCoy curses inwardly, although he can't help but wonder if he's just making excuses so he can lean in and kiss Chekov's mouth. The younger man shivers before completely giving in.

McCoy's sure hands run down Chekov's sides and proceed underneath his shirt. Chekov litters sweet kisses all over McCoy's neck, humming contentedly. McCoy tugs Chekov's cock out of his pants and begins to stroke him. A variety of happy noises escape from deep in Chekov's throat in response. _Well, Chekov is reliable and doesn't aim to get himself killed on every single away mission_. McCoy tries to understand the McCoy in this reality as he speeds his hand up. And McCoy's pretty sure he doesn't have to worry about this boy hitting on everything that moves.

Chekov's moans turn into strangled gulps as he wraps his legs around McCoy. McCoy groans at the friction this causes on his still clothed cock and pushes his hips up.

This boy is so small and vulnerable compared to his previous partners and it's been awhile since he was with a guy. McCoy can't help but think of Kirk and what this would be like with him...

McCoy bucks his hips sharply and tugs at Chekov's ear with his teeth. All he wants to hear is Chekov tease him about being rough and then bite back with a shit-eating grin in place. McCoy thinks maybe he could get Chekov to do all that if he just asks. He doubts Chekov is _quite_ as innocent as McCoy had assumed before tonight. But he doesn't _want_ to ask, he wants Chekov to _know_ what to do.

With a push to the slit of Chekov's cock, he receives a strangled yelp and Chekov hugging him around the neck, thus ruining any of the work that the 'Russian Technique' may have done.

Maybe Chekov can offer McCoy something different? McCoy kisses the boy's shoulders and Chekov nuzzles back at him, practically purring. His pale skin is absolutely gorgeous with its pink flush and his large eyes are drooping shut as he focuses completely on trying to breathe. If the red of Chekov's flushed cock is any indication, he's close to coming. McCoy glances down at his own length which had begun drooping immediately when he'd started evaluating this whole situation.

Sighing with frustration, McCoy leans his head on to Chekov's shoulder and then something inside him snaps. He pushes his face into the gold shirt and, before he can stop himself, he's rubbing his nose into it and opening his mouth so his lips can run over the fabric. _Fuck, it feels like Jim_ , McCoy thinks just before his blood starts rushing down to his genitals. All he can see is gold.

All he can see is Kirk.

McCoy's hips move sporadically and he comes hard in his pants which causes Chekov to come in turn.

Chekov slumps against him, trying his best to regain a normal pattern of breathing. He curls into a ball and cuddles against McCoy's chest. "I had a fight with Sulu..." a tiny little voice says after a few minutes have passed.

McCoy normally would bark at Chekov for making him the rebound fuck but instead he just pulls him closer, feeling an odd sort of empathy. "I don't think you sleeping with me is goin' to help that problem..." he murmurs. There's a sleepy fog starting to blur his vision and his southern drawl is a little more prominent than usual.

Chekov shrugs against him and breathes out, "I was just lonely."

McCoy can't help but want to push his face into Chekov's curls. _Was that what this rabbit hole universe is about?_ He wonders. _I need a friend...?_ After so many nights of being with so many different people, the last thing he should feel is lonely but he really is.

Instead of going for Chekov's curls, he pushes his face into Chekov's shirt.

And he nearly cries when it's not Kirk's arms that hold him.

  


The just getting off shift bit might be the strangest part—that in all this timeless wandering McCoy doesn't even have much medicine to ground him. No, it's all paperwork and free hours and personal relationships and isn't _that_ peachy. He turns the corner and sees Kirk walking toward him.

"Bones!" he calls out. "Just the man. Have dinner with me before I relieve Spock?" He smacks his open hand against McCoy's bicep, congenially, and McCoy feels the ring on that third finger.

So it's the two of them here, too, McCoy thinks. Well, he can bear up. "Sure, Jim," he replies, smiling, and they wander over to the officers' mess.

As they greet folks and get their chow Kirk seems a trifle preoccupied. After they sit down in a relatively quiet corner it only takes a moment for Kirk to just come out with it.

"So!" he says, smiling. "Pon Farr! You nervous?"

 _Fuck me_ , McCoy thinks, because if there was one thing he doesn't need to be having a conversation about in a _mess hall_ , it's Kirk and Spock bonding for life through the power of the Vulcan's goddamn magical green cock. He looks around the room and sees Nyota deep in an intimate conversation with Scotty—apparently in this universe he isn't even going to have _that_. "Why should I be?" he asks. "M'Benga—"

"Yeah, I know, Vulcan expert, precautions taken, blah blah blah," Kirk says, waving his hand. "That's not what I meant. Sure, Spock will be doing most of the pitching but that's not a huge change, right?" He winks.

McCoy swallows hard to keep his dinner from coming back up. This is a lot more detail about Kirk and Spock's sex life than he really needs. "Sure, Jim," he replies. "So what _is_ it?"

"Well," Kirk says, running a hand through his hair. "Look, the night before I married Carol, you came to me and asked if I was really doing what I wanted. I just wanted to do the same for you. Are _you_ sure?"

 _Carol? Carol Marcus from their academy days? Is_ he _sure?_ McCoy blinked. "About Spock?" he asks, stalling for enough time for his mind to catch up.

"Yeah," Kirk says. "Not that you two aren't good together—the whole thing is pretty romantic if you ask me—but just because he's got some reverse seven-year-itch happening doesn't mean you have to be part of it if you're not ready. It's like moving in with your girlfriend just because your lease is up."

McCoy tries to answer for this other McCoy. "Thanks, Jim; I appreciate it. I won't say I'm not nervous, but I know what I'm doing."

"And it's what you want?" Kirk asks softly.

McCoy looks at Kirk and feels the wrongness of it all. But they've missed their chances, made their choices. "It's what I want," he replies.

"Okay," Kirk says, nodding, and McCoy can almost see a bit of Kirk disappearing behind a wall, a door clicking shut. "Well, Mom says that whatever happens with Spock she still considers you family, and expects Jo to visit Iowa over the summer like always."

"How is Winona?" McCoy asks, smiling

"Good," Kirk says. "I think having David with her, she feels like she has another chance. With me too, maybe. And Carol--well, _you_ know. She can do work here she'd never get a chance to do on Earth or some space station. And I've got a family. Everybody wins."

 _Everybody but you_ , McCoy thinks, and is struck suddenly that in this entire conversation neither of them used the word "love." "Yep," he replies. "Everybody wins."

~~~

  
Back in his quarters after dinner, McCoy searches his personal log for clues. He doesn't bother going back to Kirk's marriage. He can reconstruct that conversation for himself: he went to Kirk meaning to declare his feelings, even wanting to, but let the circumstances get in the way. Or maybe what held him back was his sense that a family, however accidental, trumped some overemotional doctor who'd already failed once. Hope did not triumph over experience.

But he can see what Kirk means about McCoy and Spock being romantic: Two men, a little lonely and much thrown together, finding something entirely unexpected in each other. His entries are full of exasperation and sometimes downright anger—it seems the closer they get the more effectively Spock can make him mad as hell—but also wonder and discovery. It isn't the all-encompassing damn-the-universe rush that he feels for Kirk, but it's true and good and worth having.

His door chimes, and when Spock enters McCoy can see the earliest stages on his face. His eyes are fever-bright and he wears a short-sleeved shirt that, given the loose fit, is likely McCoy's own. "Leonard," he says.

"Spock," he replies, setting aside his Padd.

"Jim mentioned you had dinner together," Spock says, sitting down on the couch. "I trust it was satisfactory."

"It was nice."

"Jim also said that he did not mean to tell me in case I became jealous," Spock says. "While it is true that I have become more … possessive of late, I would never interfere with your other relationships."

"Jim was just being an ass," McCoy says, waving his hand. "Don't worry about that."

Spock nods. "Leonard?" he asks.

"Yeah?"

" _Are_ you sure?"

McCoy looks at Spock and feels a surge of affection. The poor guy, emotions right up at the surface and so soon to be out of control. He moves to the couch next to Spock and puts his palm on Spock's cheek, which is hot to the touch. "Spock," he says, running his thumb along that impossibly high cheek bone, "I'm very sure."

  


All this jumping around is giving McCoy a goddamn headache—he doesn't remember getting a whole lot of sleep, and he's mentally _weary_. He leaves Sickbay and goes straight to his quarters, hoping to have a drink and a bit of a sulk in blessed solitude.

But it is not to be. He walks in to see someone sitting on his couch. "Spock?" he asks, wondering if he's ended up back in the same place again.

"Leonard," Spock says, rising. He cocks his head. "Have you forgotten what day it is?"

"Um," McCoy says. He's never been good at dates, which led to many a fight with Jocelyn. "Maybe?"

"Today is the end of Jim's quarantine. I would think you would remember, as you imposed it."

"Oh, right," McCoy says. "Forgot to circle it in red on my Babes of Starfleet calendar."

Spock sighs, crossing his arms. "Leonard, he has missed you."

"I'm sure he has," McCoy says. "Do I at least have time to take a shower?"

"On the contrary I would recommend it," Spock says. "You do have the odor of chemicals about you."

"Well, _thanks_."

The shower doesn't help, though he's not sure anything will. He just plain isn't in the mood to be nice to Kirk, bend over for Spock, or for anything other than bourbon and bed. By the time he leaves the bathroom Kirk has arrived, and McCoy senses that he and Spock had been standing closer before he came back.

"Bones," Kirk says.

"Jim," McCoy replies, not giving him the satisfaction.

Kirk looks at Spock, who nods at him. Kirk clears his throat. "Bones—Leonard, I want to apologize."

"Do you?" McCoy asks, pulling three glasses and the bottle out of his cabinet. "For what?" He can hear Kirk's sigh, but doesn't turn to look at him.

"I'm sorry that I screwed the Betazoid ambassador without protection and got an infection which meant we couldn't have sex for three weeks. Really, I'm sorry, Bones."

McCoy nods. He doesn't need to look this one up; he knows the bacterium, knows that Kirk is of course allergic to the most effective remedy which made his recovery time three weeks instead of one. And he thinks about all that in one part of his brain while the other part is reeling, because in this universe he is finally having sex with Kirk on a regular basis.

Only Spock is in the room, and while McCoy has an inkling, he isn't sure what it all means. "All right, Jim," he says, in the mild way he knows frustrates him.

"And I really missed you," Kirk says, walking closer.

"Oh you did?" McCoy asks, turning to Kirk and offering him a glass.

Kirk takes the glass but then sets it down. "Look, Bones, I know that you weren't sure about this when we brought you into, well, whatever this is, but it wasn't the same these past few weeks. It just isn't as good without you."

McCoy glances at Spock, remembering that of course Vulcans have a natural immunity to that particular infection, so Kirk has been free to continue to get his rocks off, just not with McCoy. But from the look on Spock's face, that suits him just fine. McCoy has seen Spock in love a few times—with Uhura, with Kirk, even in a way with McCoy himself—and it doesn't look like this. And after going through a few universe's worth of bullshit, McCoy has lost his patience. "I dunno, Jim," he says. "Doesn't look that good _with_ me, either."

Kirk scowls. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asks.

McCoy hands a glass to Spock. "You happy?" he asks him.

Spock looks from McCoy to Kirk, then down into his glass. "I cannot say that I am."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not," McCoy says. "And if Jim's still running after every cutie that crosses his path, he isn't, either."

"What the hell, Bones?" Kirk asks.

"You've been running since the day I met you, Jim," McCoy replies. "Keep it up and you're going to—"

"You don't have to say it," Kirk says, holding up his hands.

"Then I won't, at this moment," McCoy says, and takes a slurp of bourbon. "We're gonna have to sit down and figure out what the hell we're doing here, and everyone's gonna have to talk about what they want, and not what they think someone else wants." He looks pointedly at Spock. "But right now we can fuck, since that seems to be what y'all came here to do."

"No, Bones, if you want to talk, let's talk," Kirk says.

"Naw," McCoy replies. "You're easier to deal with after you've had sex."

Spock stifles a noise that McCoy would have called a snort if it came from anyone else, and Kirk huffs. "You two are ganging up on me," he says.

"If we are," Spock says, "it is only because you have made it necessary."

McCoy laughs—he can't help himself. It probably does take two people to handle any one of them, so they may as well share the burden equally. "I like him," he says to Kirk.

"So kiss him," Kirk says, and McCoy complies.

~~~

Spock has gotten up in search of water, or snacks, or something—McCoy isn't quite coherent after a few orgasms, so he doesn't follow all that Spock says—and left McCoy in bed with a dozing Kirk. Kirk's head is cradled on McCoy's shoulder, and he looks so damn good that McCoy nearly tears up. "Okay, you damned rotten planet," he whispers into Kirk's hair, "with your rabbit holes and your what-do-you-wants. I'm done with your _Wizard of Oz-Alice in Wonderland_ bullshit. I get it; I don't go after him, I'm gonna regret it. Fine. Fucking send me home."

Kirk makes a snuffly noise then, and rolls further into McCoy's arms. McCoy relaxes, pulling him just a little closer before he, too, drifts off, and his last thought is that they'll make a pretty picture for Spock when he comes back to bed.

  


* * *

McCoy opens his eyes and finds himself standing in the same clearing he'd started out in, and his communicator is buzzing like crazy.

"Doctor? Doctor?" asks the ensign. "Did you still want to beam up?"

He sighs. Here he's accused Kirk of running, in more than one universe, and what is he doing now? "Belay that command, ensign," he says.

He pats himself down, and seems to be all here, everything intact and in place, and no wayward wedding rings either. There's a rustle in the brush and the man of the hour bursts into the clearing.

"You're okay," Kirk says, his eyes a bit wild.

McCoy shrugs. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"They said you weren't answering their hail, so I—"

"How long has it been since I left you?"

"Less than five minutes, why?"

McCoy nods. "I know I just laid into you, Jim, but I have something else to say."

"Okay," Kirk says, folding his arms, and McCoy can't blame him for feeling defensive.

"It's me," McCoy says. "You're supposed to be with me, Jim. Maybe in other universes there are other McCoys and Kirks who are perfectly happy with other people but here and now, _this_ Jim and _this_ Bones belong with each other. And the longer we're too scared to do it, the longer we're making other people miserable, not to mention ourselves, and I for one am tired of it."

Kirk's stance has softened, but he doesn't look like he's going to reply.

"If you need some time, that's fine," McCoy continues, his tone a little more soothing but no less firm. "We can go as slow as you need to. But that's where we're going, Jim. You and me."

Kirk keeps a wary eye on McCoy as he taps his comm. "Ensign? Two to beam up, directly to my quarters."

By the time McCoy can react and say, "What the hell, Jim?" they're standing in Kirk's room.

"I had to be sure," Kirk says, and now he's smiling.

"Be sure of what, exactly?" McCoy asks.

"Be sure it was really you," Kirk explains, walking a little closer. "Be sure it wasn't just another thing that planet was giving me because I want it."

McCoy swallows hard, and realizes that Kirk, as usual, has the right idea because he can't quite believe what's being said. "You want it?" he asks.

Kirk's moved right up in his space, and it's funny how often that happens and how little it's ever bothered him. "Yeah, but like you said, I was scared—that I'm not enough for you—"

"You are."

"That we're not right for each other—"

"We're sure as hell not right for anyone else," he says, and moves closer to Kirk, so close they're all but touching.

"Bones," Kirk whispers.

McCoy pulls Kirk into his arms and kisses him and sure, they've kissed before, but it was never like this. Now they both know and there's no holding back, on either side, and damn, if this is what it's going to be like—

"We should have done this a long time ago," Kirk murmurs.

"Doesn't matter. We're doing it now."

Kirk snickers. "Well, we're not doing it _yet_."

McCoy can only roll his eyes at that, but he follows Kirk over to the bed. Kirk turns around and they're kissing again between pulling each other's clothes off, deliberate but not rushed, and once they're nude they collapse on the bed together. Kirk is grinning as he reaches out for McCoy, and McCoy is hungry for it, almost starving after several annoying days on that stupid planet and too many other lips, other hands. They're rolling around on the bed making out like teenagers, haphazardly stroking whatever bits happen to be under their fingers, and it's fun and joyous in a way it never was before—a way, McCoy knows now, that they never let it be before.

Kirk signals he's getting serious when his grip gets a little firmer on McCoy's behind, one finger slipping between his cheeks and teasing the opening. "Wanna fuck you," he says.

McCoy can't help grinning. "Tell me about it," he says.

Kirk rolls them over so he's on top, then pushes up enough to reach for the bedside table. "I'm gonna slick up that tight little hole of yours," he says, "and watch you writhe and moan and fuck yourself on my fingers." He opens the lube and squirts some onto his fingertips. "Then I'm gonna slick my cock—"

"Nope," McCoy says, reaching for the tube. "I'm gonna do that."

"Even better," Kirk says, raising his eyebrows. "And I'm gonna make you come, Bones, come while I'm inside you because it's so fucking good to feel you clenching all around me and your come on my fingers." He slips a finger inside McCoy, makes him gasp. "Cold?" he asks.

"No," McCoy replies.

"Good," Kirk says, "because you look so hot, Bones. I don't want anyone else to see you like this."

McCoy thinks of all the people who have—well, the ones who just did—and shakes his head. "No one else," he agrees. "You neither."

"Me neither," Kirk says, nodding.

There are more fingers, and it's all McCoy can do to steady his hands enough to squeeze lube into his palm—and him, a surgeon. But Kirk's his, finally, and there doesn't need to be more reason than that. He warms up the lube in both hands, then slides them along the sides of Kirk's heavy, hard cock until it's shining like the rest of him.

"Nice," Kirk says, and only a little catch in his voice betrays him. "You good?" he asks as he slips his fingers out of McCoy.

McCoy scoots toward Kirk and tips his hips up, grabbing his legs under the knees. "Fuck me already."

"Well aren't you demanding," Kirk says, but he complies, sliding into McCoy slow but sure, taking what he wants and giving up everything at the same time. He's smiling still, like this is the most fun _ever_ and like he's a little amazed, and McCoy shares the sentiment.

And it's then, with Kirk inside and around him, with his own ankles crossed at the small of Kirk's back to spur him on, that McCoy realizes that he hadn't really been having sex with anyone else when he was down in that so-called Wonderland. Chapel's balance of work and pleasure, Uhura's cheerful if slightly inappropriate spike of libido, Chekov's sly seduction when he really needed comfort, Spock's emotional insecurity joined with physical dexterity, even that other Kirk's amused bossiness—they were all Jim, _his_ Jim. He just hadn't noticed it before. And all those McCoys he had been were inside him, too. He pushes up a little and licks at Kirk's chin.

"Need a kiss, baby?" Kirk asks.

McCoy laughs. "Keep talking, Jim," he says.

"No, your turn," Kirk says, and picks up the pace a bit.

McCoy wraps a hand around his cock. "Love it when you fuck me, Jim," he says. "Love fucking you, too. Love how you moan, how much you want it. How you shake your ass at me like some damn animal in heat."

"Sure you can keep up with me, old man?" Kirk says.

"No problem," McCoy replies. "We haven't even started yet."

"Not gonna get sick of me?"

McCoy shakes his head. "Couldn't. You're about a hundred different people, Jim."

Kirk laughs a little breathlessly. "Speed up that hand, baby," he says, and McCoy complies. No more talking now, just feeling, watching Kirk's cock push in and out of him like an old-fashioned piston, Kirk's eyes on McCoy's own hand working his cock just as fast, the lubed flesh making a squelching sound that turns McCoy on like a firecracker because _that's_ sex, dammit—messy and wet and sweaty and intimate. He glances up at those blue eyes, now staring into his own, and then—

Well, then Kirk _winks at him_ , and he comes, spurting all over their stomachs, clenching everything that can be clenched.

"Fucking gorgeous, Bones," Kirk whispers, and he speeds up a bit, really pounding into McCoy, who opens everything that was closed before, opens everything he has up to Kirk, and it isn't long before Kirk is coming, shouting with it, and prettier than anything McCoy has ever seen.

They collapse, sweaty and sated, and then Kirk rolls off of and out of McCoy and settles into his arms. "Mmm," Kirk says.

"Yeah," McCoy replies.

"Bones?"

"Hmm?"

"You think that planet could give us a dream wedding?"

McCoy sits up on one elbow and pokes Kirk in the chest. "You look here, Jim Kirk," he says, "I'm not marrying you anyplace but _terra firma_ , and with my little girl standing up with me."

"Huh," Kirk says, a little smile on his face. "I'm gonna be a stepdad. That's so weird."

McCoy relaxes his hand against Kirk, stroking the skin above his heart. "You'll be a better one than you had."

" _That_ won't be difficult," he says.

"And you could be a dad, too." McCoy pauses, making eye contact with Kirk. "If you wanted."

Kirk is silent for a moment, looking at McCoy. "You know, I never even thought about it before. But the first time I saw you with Joanna, I was jealous." He chuckles a little. "So yeah, I guess I do want it. But I don't know how—"

"We'll figure it out, Jim," McCoy says. "You and me."

Kirk is beaming. "Yeah, Bones," he says. "You and me. I got it."

  


  



End file.
